Typical Sunday



This is what a typical Sunday Morning looks like to me:


I’ve got church, I’ve got work, I’ve got biking, I’ve got something to read, and I live in Midwest America, Minneapolis… But you already knew that.

Morning Read,

The rain wasn’t coming as a bad thing.  Biking down Como to St. Paul from Marcy Holmes had to be done.  Most of the time I feel like I am, at some point, going to have a heart attack on this ride.  The water was wet and cold, and the biking was made difficult by the amount of cigarettes smoked the evening before; hence, the heart attack.  We had people over for dinner.  The meal was exceptional.  Conversation turned terse, confrontational, and all about ended at a point when it was better to take a walk- go to the car, drive to the liquor store, and get more beer.

At work, after the rain, after the cold, after I lock my bike to a post, I come inside and read about the Sex Abuse Scandals at St. Thomas, in St. Paul.

How embarrassing-and they probably would have kept their mouths shut still if they thought they could have gotten away with it.

I think if that were me in all these bad news headlines I know where I’d be sitting.  I’d be sitting in jail like anyone and everyone else not affiliated with the Catholic Church.

Is that type of treatment just?

It is truly a sad Sunday when you read about how people looking for help were taken advantage of by such an organization.  An organization that, for instance, keeps tight lipped about what might be detrimental to their ambitions; however, that very secret is destroying lives in the same community which they depend on to exist.

Who pays for this?  Who allows this to happen?

You don’t see the Christian police officer stepping up, the religious politician making a case, or the God fearing judge handing down a sentence…  A charge like that might affect their image, the outcome of an election, their standing in the office, at the precinct, and or their general faith in the church.  I don’t know.  I wonder who benefits the most.


And these grown men criminals can still find solace in the fact that they can be removed and relocated rather than incarcerated, and only to perpetrate again.  The grass is always greener, ya know?  I mean for someone with a problem like that it seems like a slap on the wrist at very most, at very least it seems like on to new pastures.

I guess I really don’t care, it just makes me sick.  The injustice part is the worst; for instance, there are people who can commit the most heinous crimes and still walk the street, and there are people who can’t.

They just move a sex offender to another location by the power of the church.  I wonder how it feels to be untouchable, I bet those kids wish they were.


And then I write Poetry:

Abend Dinner Meal,


Salmon, white-hot pink rested on chipped acrylic plates, pastel-teal.

Martini, extra dirty accompanied all in the room;

Three dull olives eyes red pupil watch all scruple.


Oven heat at feet, at present; that is, comfort warmth about air, pleasant.

Words, gestures, chairs, centered, a yellow table sat.

To speak of salt, pepper, beer, near a sink, straight-up utensils, bowls, cups, cutting boards adorned and dripping dish rake; as is, fore and after.

Beautiful view from the window, looking glass thru to outside, may find that no one stares back.

Outside cold; the only company we lack.

Empty seats, forks, spoons, and glasses,

And we are satisfied while distant radio plays a score.

Another day, pills stuck in the back of my throat.


Slug watch out, Prince’s pajama party under partly cloudy skies.

Newspaper sex scandal all eyes on all lies.

Scandal on my mind-

Walk the stacks.

Sore throat, broke-needles as the food goes down.

Off they don’t go to jail, weather the rain and hail.

Whether we try and fail, or try and prevail.  We try.

Fresh not stale, win no stale-mate.

Ate the food and washed the plate while they came in late.

So early I was great.

For me it’s full faith in fate.

I remain reading this book and the calendar.

The thought of I just wake.


And then I write an email to my Deutsch instructor:


Hallo Kiley,



I blanked on the Hausaufgauben again.  I was wondering, besides studying for the test, if there was anything else that was needed for MONtag.





And then I write Java:


Public class ForgetProgram


public static void main(String[] args)


System.out.println( “Hello everyone.”);

System.out.println( “Welcome to your Life.”);


System.out.println(“Let’s demonstrate a simple calculation.”);

System.out.println(“Let’s ruin some big corporations day.”);

int answer;

answer = 2 + 5;

System.out.println(“ 2 plus 3 is” + answer);

System.out.println(“mission accomplished.”);




About Terry Scott Niebeling

Hello, My name is Terry Scott, a human being with flaws. twitter: @sirterryscott Buy my ebooks: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1/191-4788099-1818040?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=terry+scott+niebeling
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